Konstantin Treplev:
[speaking to his uncle, Pjotr Nikolayevich]
I love my mother. I love her deeply. But she leads an absurd life. She's always drifting around with that novelist. There's always something about her in the gossip columns, and it all wears me out. Sometimes I'm overcome by the sheer egotism of her simple soul.
[continues, as his uncle soberly listens]
Konstantin Treplev:
I bitterly regret that my mother's a famous actress, and it seems to me that I would be far happier if she were just an ordinary woman. Uncle, can you think of any situation more desperate and detestable? There she is, surrounded by a great crowd of celebrities: artists, writers... and out of the whole lot, I am the only non-entity. What am I? Who am I?
[continues, as his uncle soberly listens]
Konstantin Treplev:
I walked out of my third year at the university because of circumstances, as they say, over which the editor accepts no responsibility. No talent, without a penny to my name. According to my passport I am a tradesman of the city of Kiev - like my father was, but he was a famous actor as well. So, when all these famous artists and writers did finally condescend to pay some attention to me, it was as if they were measuring my mediocrity. I could see what they were thinking. The humiliation was unbearable.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 08:20
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